welcome to the singularity ; sacrosanct secure network


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[Audio -- Private to Kevin Flynn, Encrypted 100%]
oh honey no
a_perfect_end wrote in singularity_rpg
Flynn? Uh.

[The words escape in a pressured, mechanical rush.]

I know I always call you with bad news, and I figured, why break precedent?

Could you, ah, come collect your--your security guard, your boyfriend is kind of. All over my porch. And he won't let me touch him. Locked out at the boot level.

[Darkly] And, obviously, he doesn't know when to quit.
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[The stress, the mechanical distortion running under that familiar voice...Flynn's already moving.]

What. Happened.

[Yes, hurry. Tron's not well, and that's complicating the necessary repairs. He probably won't derezz, but odds are in favor of a hard crash, and Clu can't do a glitching thing about any of it.]

...He'll live. Look, he came over, okay? [This is not Clu's fault. Well, mostly not his fault...Well, about 48.3 bar% his fault. Can you just get here, please?] We--had words. He threatened me. We went a few rounds.

He still doesn't watch for an uppercut on his left. Didn't anticipate him falling on it.

[Nothing from Flynn's end for long seconds but the ding of an elevator. (They never seem to glitch on him.) Then, impossibly calm:]

How much damage, and where?

[An elevator that actually works? The mechanism must have been Zenned into behaving...Not that he reasons from experience, or anything.

He is not that calm, but he can fall into toneless, telegraphic speech when it's called for.]


Mid-chest to the upper torso. Not broad, but it's. [Not gonna wince. Not gonna wince...wincing.] Pretty deep. Read-only suggests mild structural displacement.

[A human would be looking at around a dozen stitches, maybe more.]

Is he still online?

[It would sound like Flynn's discussing the weather, if there were any emotion in his voice at all.]

["Online" might be pushing the description of Tron's state at the moment. He's curled on his side on the ground, barely aware of the reality of events around him, clutching desperately at his discs, which are pulsing sickly, the light dull and fading. The gash at his chest is partially hidden from the way he's curled protectively, and a slow trickle of derezzing pixels still ebbs between his fingers.

He's lost, somewhere between past and present, memories flickering behind his wide-open eyes.]


Don't let him... don't let him...

Edited at 2011-10-13 01:49 am (UTC)

[Diligently not looking not looking not looking now is not the time to glitch up, and this is literally the least he could do to help.]

...Let's call that a solid operative, responsive, and incoherent.

[Online? Yes. Functional? No.]

I see.

[Flynn's voice is nothing short of mechanical, the clipped syllables drained of everything, because the only alternative is panic.]

[Tron can hear voices, Clu's voice overhead, and he curls tighter, defensive, in too much pain and damaged too badly to even get up and run. The only thing he can hope for is that he will derez before he's reprogrammed again...]

Yeah he. Is. He [screamed for] asked for you, please come get him.

[Programs have zero use for slow, deep breaths.]

I'm coming.

[The preternatural composure teleports with him, and then Flynn can just follow the glow in his head.

At a run.]

[Tron can hear running footsteps, hear the voices above him, muffled and jumbled. He tries to focus, tries to bring himself back to the present, but he's lost in the sea, fading and drowning.]

Flynn, I told you...

Flynn... Flynn, go...!

He's here. You're gonna be fine.

[Just. Going to get the glitching fault out of Flynn's way, now. There's not much else he can do.]

[Flynn spares Clu an indecipherable glance in passing before he drops to his knees at Tron's side, pixels crunching beneath his boots and sharp-edged against his shins.]

Tron.

[The dread underlying Flynn's icy calm is flowing close to the surface now, threatening to sweep everything away, and the hand clutching Tron's shoulder is far more than a diagnostic measure.]

[Tron jerks at the touch, eyes going wide but unfocused, circuits flaring bright as fresh pixels spill from the wound at his chest. His fused discs clutched tightly in one hand, he tries to push away, using the last reserves of his energy to struggle.]

S-stay away! I... I won't... let you... you can't...

[All his efforts manage to do is drain him further, and he collapses forward, the pavement rough and cold against his cheek.]

help Flynn escape don't let Clu touch your disc don't let him in your code don't let him don't let him don't let him

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